Writer's Block
by zephtastic
Summary: After being pronounced dead, Duo moves on and starts his own new life as a new person. But when the friends of his former life of being Duo Maxwell are suddenly stuck in his new one, Duo is at loss for what to do. Eventual 1x2 Duo POV SLASH Shounen ai LIM
1. PART ONE

**Pairings:** Eventual 1x2, mentions of 3+4  
**Warnings:** Light slash (shounen-ai), foul language, bastardization of other pilots, angst, sap  
**Disclaimer:** I don't make money, honestly.  
**Summary:** After being pronounced dead, Duo moves on and starts his own new life as a new person. But when the his fellow former pilots get wise to Duo's new life, he finds himself at loss for what to do.

**Writer's Block **

I may not be a religious man, but I know a sign when I see one. Coming home after one drunken evening of wallowing in despair to find your home up in flames is what I call a sign. A sign that maybe my life wasn't going where it should be, and I should stop this downhill tumble I'd been on since the war.

At first, I was going to go up to the firemen and tell them that I was fine and perfectly okay. I'd left my car at home, walking down to the local bar and drinking myself into oblivion. I was actually pretty out of my mind, and stopped when I heard one of the reporters say distinctly say in something that still haunts my nightmares, "We're here on the scene where former Gundam pilot Duo Maxwell has been pronounced dead."

I just ran. Don't ask me why, in my drunken stupor it seemed like a good idea at the time. I woke up the next morning with the worst hang over in the world in some cheap motel. I turned on the TV and watched the report on my death. I was dead.

It was actually somewhat ironically funny how I was presumed dead. Apparently, when I was in such a rush to get away from my hell of a life and go get drunk, I forgot to lock the door. And some smart bastard found this and decided he'd just rob a Gundam pilot. Well, when he was inside, there apparently was a gas leak from my stove, and the wise ass lit a cigarette and BOOM, up in flames he went.

Not only that, he was the exact size, weight, and blood type as me. Not that there was much for them to get blood off. The guy was a pile of ash in a pile of ashes. My house was non-existent anymore, and some poor fuck was dead, but the whole world thought he was I.

So, instead of going and saying 'no! I'm alive!' I left. That's right. I left that damned colony, that Preventers job I hated that I was forced into by my "friends" to go down to Earth. I traveled for one year before I finally got around to doing what I wanted to in Boston, Massachusetts, be a writer.

Little did I know, that the first book I wrote would be come a best seller, and get me rich. Four million copies sold on Earth, and three million more in the colonies. I was suddenly loaded, pushed from my crappy one room apartment to a luxurious place I didn't even know existed.

Then I continued to write, writing romance action novels that were popular with women, and a few war novels that hit it off with the men. But, I was obviously more appealing to the ladies because suddenly I was America's most eligible bachelor who wasn't even looking.

It was so weird suddenly being in the position I had originally run away from for a totally different cause. Instead a cause I was more proud of. A talent that didn't involve shooting people with deadly precision, or piloting giant killing machines, no I was loved because I could _write._ And I could write well.

So I continued to live in Boston, writing my hand off, barely making deadlines and being a typical novelist. It was the greatest. I was happy, finally, and it felt good. But, I still had an empty spot. An empty spot that wasn't filled by my fancy car, or my millions of fans, something that obviously wasn't meant to be filled with material items and idolism from people I didn't know.

But I ignored this. Which probably was stupid, because soon I wasn't so happy anymore. My books still were selling fine, I still had my apartment, my car, my editor, myself. Yet, it just wasn't enough anymore. I hadn't a clue what to do.

Even this though was forgotten one winter Sunday afternoon. I was walking down the street, a warm cup of coffee in one hand, the other stuffed in my coat pocket from the cold. It was snowing, and quite a lovely day, one of the days that made me wish I were a painter.

I was walking as I said, just bored from being stuck in my apartment hunched over my laptop typing away. It was pretty normal, few people walking down the street from the cold, cars driving by, careful of the slick snow lining the streets.

I stopped, frowning down at the snow stuck on my shoe bending over to dust it off. When it was gone, I looked up, and straight into the eyes of a reporter on the television behind the glass window in front of me. It was one of those electronics stores that showcased the newest vid sets and televisions in their windows. Something as a former thief taunted me so.

It wasn't my need to steal that attracted me to the TV on in front of me now. No, it was the story this reporter was speaking about: Relena Peacecraft visiting Earth. That would have been fine if it were not for what the woman said next: "None other than our cozy city of Boston!"

I'd raced home after that, sitting on my couch and watching the same story again on another station. "Oh shit," left my mouth before I could stop it.

**To be continued…? **

This is some idea I got a while ago. I've tried writing it a few times with results that I hated. This one however I love turned out. I may continue it, I'm not sure if anyone really likes my idea. So please review if you do!


	2. PART TWO

**Writer's Block**

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Gundam Wing or it's characters. I merely use them to act out my wicked stories. No more than a fangirl's fantasies on paper. :D

I'd raced home after that, sitting on my couch and watching the same story again on another station. "Oh shit," left my mouth before I could stop it.

I sat there watching the rest of the news, but my mind was still on that story. The story that could reveal that Duo Maxwell really hadn't died, that could ruin this new life I've built. Then, the phone rang, the little old-fashioned phone popping up on the screen, it's receiver jumping up and down, the happy ringing tune playing.

"Start call," I said shaking my head, standing up, and placing a forced smile on my face.

It was Irene, my editor. She smiled at me, her blonde hair in curls falling around her face, brown eyes taking in my appearance. "Hello, sweetie, you feelin' okay?" she asked, her face turning from a smiling happy woman, to the concerned mother. Ah, she could read me like a book.

I sighed, shaking my head again. "Ah, it's nothing," I said, waving it off with my hand, grinning at her.

She gave me a calculating look then sighed, rolling her eyes. "Well, there is a signing tomorrow, remember? At the Camille Bookstore?" she asked, knowing I had totally forgotten…which I had.

I looked sheepish. "Oh yeah, that is tomorrow isn't it?"

She chuckled, rolling her eyes again at me. "I just wanted to remind you, and," she said, getting that look in her eyes like she had the greatest secret in the world to tell me. "And after you'll never guess! David, you are the luckiest man alive!"

"I was also the luckiest man alive when Life featured me, then the New York Post had me on their cover, and then when I got to do a interview and shoot for the Entertainment magazine," I said giving her an exasperated look. "I though you promised I could have a break for this month!"

"This, Davey, is not something you want to refuse!" she said, her 'you are going to love me for this' look not vanishing. "Relena Peacecraft has asked you to lunch!"

Then, it went black.

**XxxXXxxX **

I'm sure that there are still a few things you were wondering about. Like how did I escape so easily from the life I had? Why my fellow Gundam pilots didn't go through hell and high water to make sure I had actually died? Well, they did.

In fact, I have the documentary on the thing on tape sitting in the drawer of my nightstand. It was the weirdest thing. Of course, yes I knew they cared for me, I could believe it for that. But the documentary? I mean really, I wasn't that great.

But they did one, and so I had a biography of my whole life. It wasn't very flattering. There was a lawsuit against it by Quatre. I also have that on tape. Apparently the thing told the entire world a lie. That I was not the monster they made me to be. That the things they said about me in it also pertained and was insulting the other Gundam pilots.

I was flattered again. They thought my ghost should be remembered in a better and more rightful way. They then made another documentary; this time on the investigation Quatre and Trowa did, going into my death.

I have that on tape too, if you were wondering. Well, the only reason they did not know I was alive, was because the people in the bar I went to that night didn't even know I was there. That's right, I have my whole new life to thank because of those stupid drunk ass bastards never even realized I was in the same bar as them just as pissed.

Next, my financial thing. I got to Earth by working on a shuttle ship, instead of being paid in credits, I was paid by the ride there. I was a good mechanic, and that got me through that travel. Then, when I was on Earth, I just traveled by hitching rides on trains, or even sneaking on airplanes. It wasn't easy, but I managed it. Finally I somehow ended up in Boston and decided this was to be where I lived.

Then I worked part time at a café, writing chapters of my stories on napkins, and then also worked part time at an auto shop. Then I got my editor and suddenly I was rich and famous.

Now, my name obviously is no longer Duo Maxwell. I am now David Oliver Underhill. Yes, my initials are D U O. So I couldn't let go of my name, so sue me. Solo gave me that name and it was the only thing I had left of him.

Maxwell, however, I let go. I still had Father Maxwell's cross and I figured that would do. I then, to remember him even more, made the main character of my first best selling book James Maxwell.

Now, I have friends. Not friends like I used to, no, they don't pester me when they think I'm feeling bad, I have Irene for that, but I do go clubbing with them and go out to lunch. They're just friends I got from working at the café and auto shop.

So I'm not totally a recluse, only when I'm working to meet a deadline. Then, don't expect to hear from me for days. But I do go out, just not as often as most people would. That was my life as a writer.

Being famous did mean I had TV interviews; photo shoots for magazine covers, magazine interviews, and book signings. I've been on TV only once, and that was a risk I wasn't going to take again, I may not have my hair anymore, but people can still recognize my face.

I've been on four magazine covers, and they were in my glasses, which I don't really need to wear, but do to hide my face. I've probably done twenty interviews total, all magazine issues.

So that was my life. That was what I have accomplished. I was proud of it, and looked over these things every time I needed to be reminded that this wasn't a dream, and I really was David Oliver Underhill the best selling author.

It was a dream come true.

**XxxXXxxX **

Right now I sat in some fancy restaurant I'd never been to, Irene chatting happily away to me to my left, waiting for Ms. Relena Peacecraft. I'd fainted the night before, stop laughing, when Irene told me the news that I would be here having lunch with the woman from my past I never wanted to see again.

And that wasn't all, oh no, because God really did hate me. Heero Yuy, Quatre Winner, Trowa Barton, and Wufei Chang were all coming along too. Apparently the little misses was on vacation here and the four decided to tag along.

We were early, and it was another five minutes before they would come. I ran a hand through my _short_ hair and crossed my eyes looking at the pair of glasses that sat on my nose. I prayed to whatever god that didn't hate me that the five of these blasts from the past wouldn't recognize me. My chances were slim, but I had the same percent for success on many of my missions back in the war, I had some elusive good luck, elusive, but still good luck.

"Ah! Mr. Underhill, what an pleasure it is to be dining with you!" came the voice that used to make me cringe. I looked up and straight into the eyes of my impending doom.

**To be continued…? **

Ah, there we go. Did I answer your questions? I hope so; I was planning on further explaining in this chapter anyway. The fist one was more of a prologue to get people interested. Which seemed to work! Thanks for your reviews and I hope you continue to read!


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